The Rage Index
by Remember-Sathair
Summary: A new fratello is subjected to the testing of an adrenaline-control device, known by the staff as the "Rage Index." The new handler, Andrew, struggles to come to terms with the agendas of the Social Welfare Agency.
1. Grace

Well, it wasn't the worst decision I've ever made, but... It was _almost_ the worst decision I've ever made, but, in retrospect, there are only so many bad loops the lords karma can throw your way.

"Good morning," said the little girl as I joined her.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, feeling a bit self-conscious. How _did_ a person feel when she was brainwashed and given a cybernetic body? I wasn't exactly sure, but it seemed like a safe question to ask.

"I'm okay," she said, looking at me with interest.

"My name is Andrew," I said. I proffered my hand, and she took it tentatively.

"I don't know my name," she said. She looked a little more emotionless than I would have if I had forgotten my own name, but I ignored that. It wasn't her fault the Social Welfare Agency brainwashed her, I suppose.

"It's Grace," I replied, remembering the name from her file. She nodded, still not responding very well. Even if she was a cyborg, she was still a kid. I didn't know how to deal with a kid. "Are you feeling well enough for your lessons?"

"I guess so," she said doubtfully. She hid behind a curtain of red hair, one green eye glinting at me through it. I sighed with exasperation and stood up.

"Well, then... Let's go," I said. She stood also, folding her arms and walking after me as I exited the room. I guess she had an excuse for being slightly strange and more than a little quiet. It unnerved me. I sent her to the classroom with the rest of the girls, and I took a short stroll through the Agency headquarters. Well, the part that wasn't offices and government workers, that is.

"Afternoon, Andrew," said Jean, one of my fellow handlers, with a grin. "I heard you got your cyborg today. How are her implants functioning?"

"They're okay. She's very quiet, though. Is that normal?" I asked.

"Yeah. Rico doesn't really talk very much, but I have to condition her so much that she probably doesn't think at all," he said with a shrug. "Then there's Hilshire's girl. She talks too much sometimes."

"I hope she becomes a little more articulate," I replied. "She won't pass for a normal little girl otherwise."

, "Don't worry, as long as you condition her properly, things'll be fine. How did you end up as a handler, anyway?"

"I was asked specifically. There's a lot of demand for the fratellos these days, so... They offered me the job because I was there, I guess. And I was the only one willing to do it."

"It's a tough job for people like Jose. He's so emotionally attached to his cyborg that he doesn't condition her enough," said Jean coolly. He looked frustrated at his brother's shortcomings.

"I don't know what I think of her, yet," I said. "I talked to Hilshire earlier. He said I shouldn't expect to get along with her."

"You might not. I get pretty frustrated with Rico most of the time, but there's only so much a brainwashed cyborg can do."

"Yeah," I said. "I think I'm going to go to the cafe and get a coffee. You want one?"

"Sure. Just get me black, if you don't mind."

"That's fine," I said, walking away from him and in the direction of my car. I wasn't really in the mood for socialization, and a solitary drive into town was exactly what I needed. As I entered the parking lot, Jose was just arriving in his red convertible. He was lucky he had such an ostentatious car. My car, a stately black sedan, looked like a hearse next to his.

"Hi, Jose," I said politely, waving.

"Where are you headed to, Andrew?"

"I'm going to get some coffee in town. Do you want one while I'm there?"

"That's okay. I'm going to get Henrietta. I'm taking her out to the range for a while, and then we're probably going into town for dinner."

"Oh. Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, in that case," I said, opening my car's door.

"Yeah," he said, "See you later."

"'Bye," I said. I closed the door and backed out, wondering at Jose's obvious care for his cyborg. Jean didn't seem to have nearly the same attachment that even Hilshire displayed. I felt very uneasy about the entire situation, but it paid well. That's what we all told ourselves, I think.

As I drove into town, I felt very depressed about what I had to do for the duration of my new job. I cranked the heat up very high in order to combat the frigid evening air, and put a CD in that I hadn't listened to for a while. The tinkling classical piano of Scarlatti had always been a favorite of mine, though for some reason it made me think of friends and family that had died. Maybe that was why I liked it.

Usually when I went into town I spent an hour reading the newspaper in one of the many small cafes that lined the streets. Because I had promised to bring Jean back a coffee, I stopped at a convenience store instead. I decided that I would get Grace a candy bar as well. I carried the two coffees back to my car and placed them into the cup holders, slopping some on my fingers in the process. I set the Mars Bar on the leather passenger seat, putting on a different CD for the twenty minute drive back to the Agency. I had gone to the opposite side of the commercial district, which was much further from the Agency than the proximal side of town. I wanted some time to think.

The new CD was something I had picked up at a shop in the airport- a rock band that I'd never heard of. It was impossible to say my taste in music wasn't broad. Maybe I didn't want time to think, I reflected, as much as I wanted time _not_ to think. The sun had set and the air was even colder than it had been an hour earlier. When I arrived at the Agency I donned my brown greatcoat, hoping the coffee hadn't cooled too much during my drive. I walked to one of the conference rooms, where Jean was reading a novel by the light of a Tiffany lamp.

"You sure took your time, didn't you?" asked Jean, taking his coffee. "You missed Priscilla."

"That's fine by me. I don't know if I'm very conversational right now," I replied, looking at my reflection in the shiny table. "I think I'm going to see Grace again."

"If you really want to," he said, not really listening.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, sipping my lukewarm coffee. "Maybe I'll bring real coffee, not this convenience store stuff."

"That's okay," Jean replied. "I don't care what kind it is, as long as it's strong." I shrugged. My hand went into my pocket to make sure I had remembered the candy bar. I walked out of the building and slowly through the ionic columned walkway, toward the girls' lodgings. I knocked on Grace's door.

"Come in," came her voice. I entered, attempting to smile. I found Triela, Hilshire's girl, and Henrietta, Jose's girl, sitting with her. She looked very happy.

"I got you something at the store," I said, handing her the chocolate. She smiled shyly, and I continued trying to smile.

"Thank you, Andrew," she said. "These are my friends. This is Triela, and this is Henrietta."

"I'm glad you like them," I said, giving the two other girls a wave. Henrietta was even quieter than Grace, but Triela jumped up and shook my hand boldly.

"It's nice to meet you, sir," she said.

"Nice to meet you, too." I didn't mention that I had witnessed both hers and Henrietta's interviews and surgeries a couple of times. She sat back down, and they all looked at me for a moment. Oh. They wanted to talk without me there, I supposed. Children were so strange.

"Well, I'll see you all at breakfast," I said. I walked back to my car, thinking about how many people those innocent children had killed. How many bloody corpses little Grace's green eyes would look upon in her lifetime. I felt very morbid. I found Jose in the parking lot, and he seemed to be leaving also.

"You didn't take her to dinner, then?" I asked.

"No," he said, looking pained. "She was having trouble with her right knee joint. Apparently she put too much stress on it when we were in Piedmont last week. She's going back to the lab to get it fixed."

"Oh, that's too bad," I said, not really sure how to reply. "I hope she can get out of there quickly."

Me, too," he said. "Well, I'll see you at breakfast."

"Yeah," I said, closing my car door on him for the second time that morning. If I was contemplative, then he may as well have been a rock who happened to shoot people every once in a while.

As I lay in bed that night, all I could imagine was Henrietta, lying on a hospital table while doctors pulled her knee ligaments to pieces. I dreamed of being chased through Vatican City by Grace, who was wielding an assault rifle. She cornered me in the last part, and looked at me innocently once more. I woke up to the gunshot, covered in cold sweat and breathing heavily. The moon streamed through the window, illuminating my entire bedroom. Just a dream, Andrew. It's just a dream.

I stopped for coffee, against my best judgment, at the same convenience store, and listened to Scarlatti again. When I arrived at the Agency, I saw Hilshire having Triela run laps round and round the main building. I entered the building and went to the dining hall, where Jean and Rico were eating breakfast with Jose and Henrietta. Grace was sitting alone, waiting for me.

"Hi, Grace," I said. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright," she said, following me to the table where the other fratellos were eating. I handed Jean and Jose their coffee, which they both took without breaking their conversation.

"I'm telling you, she needs more conditioning!" Jean said, looking really irritated.

"She only needs repairs, Jean," Jose said patiently. "You're making a big deal out of nothing."

"What happens when her knee gives out in the field?" he asked, making a fist with one hand and gulping his coffee with the other.

"It won't when they replace the ligaments," Jose replied. He looked at Henrietta, who was eating sullenly. "It's okay, you'll only be in there for today, Henrietta."

"Don't worry, Henrietta," said Rico, her blue eyes lighting up. "We can play the violin together when they let you out, okay?"

"No violins today, Rico," said Jean. "After your lessons we're going to the range for some sniping practice."

"Yes, Jean," she said deferentially. She trotted after him, and I watched suspiciously.

"Jose," I said, "Why does Jean treat his cyborg like that?"

"Please, let's not talk about that with the girls around," Jose said pleasantly. I sighed, but I wasn't going to pursue the subject if someone like Jose wasn't worried. "Grace, how are you doing this morning?"

"I'm fine, sir," she said. Still not articulate.

"Grace, would you like to learn the piano?" he asked pleasantly. "We just had it delivered yesterday for you. It'll help your body adjust to the implants."

"Oh. Thank you," she said, looking a little happier. "I'd love to." Jose really knew me. I had an attachment to the piano, and I had studied my first two years of college as a music major before deciding that I was not really good enough to become a performer.

"Thanks, Jose," I said, grinning. "Grace, I'll start teaching you right after our practice at the range."

"Thank you, sir," she said. "Is it difficult?"

"Exceedingly so," I replied, "But it makes your whole body work together. It's the best exercise that brain of yours can get."

"Oh," she said.

"You'll do fine," I said, patting her on the shoulder. She nodded, but I don't think she was convinced.

"Henrietta," said Jose, picking up the remnants of his breakfast, "Let's go to the infirmary."

"Yes, Jose," she said in a very small voice.

"Grace, you should probably be off to your lessons," I said. She jumped up and took her breakfast, following Jose and Henrietta. "I'll meet you here at lunch, okay?"

"Yes, sir," she said, averting her eyes after she had turned to hear me. That whole "sir" thing was going to have to stop. Had I been twenty years older perhaps I would have been comfortable as a "sir," but at the age of twenty-five it really wasn't necessary. I was a bit young to be working at the Social Welfare Agency, really, but my short experience in the army had given me an excellent reputation in the government.

I walked outside, where I saw Triela still at it. Hilshire was holding a stopwatch, timing her laps and shouting the times to her. They were finished just as I came to stand by Hilshire.

"Great job, Triela," Hilshire said, putting the stopwatch in his pocket. "You can go to lessons now. You really did well today."

"Thanks," said Triela, already halfway across the yard.

"That's your cyborg?" I asked Hilshire.

"That's Triela," he replied, sighing. "She's really got a mind of her own, but she works hard when she has to. How have you been doing with yours?"

"I haven't really talked to her much, yet," I said. "She's not very talkative. Either that or she's just shy."

"Perhaps. Rico and Henrietta are the quietest ones. Triela's kind of loud."

"But you get along with her?"

"Barely. She likes to do things without my help, and she does almost everything well. I still, you know, try to help her, though."

"Yeah," I said, looking at the fat clouds rolling by. The sun was already in the sky, shining cheerfully through the clouds. "When do you think they'll assign Grace and I to a mission?"

"Not sure," Hilshire said, starting to walk away. "Probably within a couple of weeks."

After Grace and I had finished her piano lesson (which went pretty well), I went to eat dinner in the dining hall with Marco and Jose. Dr. Bianchi, the man who was in charge of monitoring the girls, was also there.

"Hello, Andrew," said Bianchi, waving. I sat beside him. "I was just explaining a new psychological problem we've found in the girls. Actually, you need to hear this, too." I nodded, sitting down and picking at my lasagna halfheartedly. "After studying some of the cases of the girls' disobedience of orders, we think that the only reason they are prone to do so is out of misplaced concern for their handlers. Jose, you've had some experience with that, so I think you'll understand what I'm saying. We're going to install devices in the girls that can sense the quickening of the pulse and the other symptoms of anger, so that we can further study the effects. I actually wanted to see your girl's progress as she gets more attached to you, Andrew."

"You want to use me and Grace as test dummies?" I asked in surprise.

"Yeah. We need to establish where and when to control their actions and take away their ability to hurt individuals that really mean the handler no harm. I don't know. It's still really iffy, but I need to make sure. We can't have any more incidents like Jose's, where the cyborg kills anyone who is even the slightest threat to her handler."

"I see," I said. It made me uncomfortable.

"The Rage Index testing will start next week, Andrew. Be ready for it, okay?" said Bianchi.

"I will," I said, stuffing more food in my mouth. I didn't want to discuss it any longer.


	2. Domine Ad Adjuvandum Me Festina

A/N- Well, hi! I'm hoping the first chapter was a good introduction to Andrew, blah blah blah, etc.

Thanks for your kind words, Nachtsider. Gunslinger Girl is really one of the most brilliant philosophical, moral, and touching character studies I've ever seen. I want to continue that tradition as I await the second season... Okay, enough rambling from me - back to the story!

-R.S.

"You've all heard of extraordinary cases in which humans have been pushed to their limits and accomplished things that they normally would not be able to do. This is the principle of the other side of the Rage Index- the other benefit that hormonal regulation can offer," Dr. Bianchi said, sitting at the right hand of the Chief in the conference room, "It's a last-ditch ability that could save a fratello from certain death."

Frankly, I didn't approve of controlling the girls' hormones. I had been with Grace for about five days, and I saw that she was definitely an individual, though her judgment was not always as accurate as my own. After more training, I was sure that she would be just as capable as I was of making decisions, but people like Jean didn't see it that way. Even Jose was not objecting to this new technology.

"Who will regulate it in the field?" Hilshire asked. As he leaned back, the office chair creaked under his sizable frame. "I don't want some agent in a van deciding whether my cyborg is acting up."

"You'll have control over it," Bianchi said, "but it's still in the testing stage. I'm going to run some tests on Grace this week, and then we'll be in the lab for a while analyzing it. A month later I'm going to continue testing on her.

"In the mean time, I'll keep you posted on the test results and such." He stacked up his papers and rose from the chair. "Thanks for listening today, everybody. I have really high hopes for this project." As he left, I watched his progress suspiciously. I was imagining if one of these men had control over _my_ anger. Somehow, anger was a right that I wouldn't be very willing to part with. But, then again, did these children, these cyborgs, have any idea what we were taking away from them? I stared at my reflection once more in the shining table, looking into my own eyes for want of someone to talk to. _You need to find something better to do with your life, guy_. I told myself silently.

"I don't think that I'm going to need it very much," Jean was telling his younger brother. I noted the similarities of their facial structures and the contrast of their hair colors. "Rico is conditioned perfectly, but sometimes she reacts to threats too radically. I doubt I would ever have to go to _that _extreme."

"I don't know..." Jose replied. "I doubt that I'm going to need it at all. Henrietta hasn't done anything like that for months. I don't see why we need something to strengthen them, when they're already superhuman."

"Triela will hate it," Hilshire said, looking annoyed. "She hates anything that isn't her way."

"You act as if she has a choice," Jean said frigidly.

At that point I decided that I wanted to leave the room. I walked to the dormitories to fetch Grace for her piano lesson. Under my arm was the first book in a series that taught children the art of playing, and with it was the music to one of my favorite songs. I had decided that I wanted to play a bit on the high-end grand piano the agency had purchased. My electric piano paled in comparison to it.

I rapped on Grace's door, and she opened it, already prepared to leave.

"Afternoon, Grace," I said, handing her the book. "Are you ready for your lesson? Have you practiced at all during the evenings?"

"Yes," she said, taking the book. "I understand the notes on the lines a little bit now, but... I don't see how my hands can move in different ways at the same time." She sounded doubtful that it could be done.

"It can be done," I said, "and that's why this is such a good thing for you to be doing. It helps you learn to concentrate and gives you better coordination."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I only have ten fingers."

"Trust me, if you practice enough, you can do it."

"Okay," she said. We arrived in the practice room, which had been little more than an empty room before the piano had been brought in. I had hung a few posters in it from my attic to give it more character. There were many posters, ranging from obscure foreign movie posters to the motivational quotes that teachers hung in classrooms.

"Sit down," I said, sitting beside her. Now, I'll point to the key, and you tell me the name of it." After we'd done that for a while, I had her play a watered-down version of Ode to Joy from Beethoven's 9th, because it was by far the easiest song in her book. I think that her brain was able to learn more quickly than a normal human could, but she could have just been more intelligent than I had been as a child. I sent her away after about an hour, and I sat down to play.

The song I played was an epic choral piece, but it sounded pale without a huge choir's accompaniment. I sang the melody line as I played, "Domine ad adjuvandum me, ad adjuvandum me, festina, festina..." and so on. After a while my voice faded away, and I continued to play unaccompanied, the beautiful sound of the grand filling the room. I sat back when I had finished, my foot still on the sustain pedal, the sound still ringing. It was my favorite noise in the entire world.

I heard a footstep behind me. I turned around, and to my surprise Henrietta, Jose, and Grace were all gawking at me.

"I didn't know you could play so well, Andrew," said Jose, smiling. I felt horrible, because I did not like people listening to me play. It was another reason I had not pursued my intended career- I had terrible stage fright and I was not particularly talented.

"That was beautiful," said Henrietta, "What's that song called?"

"Domine ad adjuvandum me festina," I said, feeling self-conscious.

"It's lovely," Grace said. "Can you teach me to play that one?" I chuckled.

"Maybe someday- you're not quite ready."

"Will you play something else?" asked Henrietta shyly.

"Um... I have work to do. Maybe some other time."

"Thank you, Andrew," said Jose, tapping Henrietta's shoulder. "We have to be going for her violin lesson. Maybe she and Grace could play together sometime?"

"Of course," I said, ushering Grace out of the room. I shut the door, glad to be away from my embarrassment. "Grace, why did you stay here?"

"I heard the piano while I was walking down the hall, and I didn't know who was playing," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't go to my room like you said to."

"That's okay," I said as we walked down the hall. "I'm just not used to playing in front of people." Wasn't it strange that my favorite activity was still showing up, even in the work of national defense? It was strange, but I was glad that Jose and I had known one another from our work in the army. At least there was something beautiful in this place of ugly truths. There was Grace, walking beside me, unknowing that she had been engineered as a killing machine. There was me, walking beside her, allowing this to happen. But, really, I could not do anything. It was hopeless, for either way these children _were_ going to die.

"Andrew," she said, looking at me. "Are we going to the lab tomorrow? Jean said we were."

"Yes," I said, avoiding her wide eyes.

"The lab is... it's scary," she said. I had no idea how to comfort her. I couldn't even comfort myself about it.

"It will only be for tomorrow morning," I replied. The device had already been installed in her endocrine system, so all that had to be done was standard testing of functionality. It wasn't going to be bad. I couldn't live with myself if it was.

Grace looked very frightened indeed as she was shepherded into the sterile chamber. She had had her vitals taken a few moment earlier, and her knuckles were white as she stared through the glass at Bianchi and I. Her heart rate was soaring at 101 beats per minute, and her blood pressure was consequently rising.

"It's okay, Grace," I said through the microphone, attempting to give her a reassuring smile. "Just do what Dr. Bianchi says, and we'll be out of here by lunchtime." She nodded.

"Now, Grace, I want you to take hold of the grips on the weight machine," Bianchi dictated. Ferro walked into the room with us, staring through the window at the little girl. No, I corrected myself- the cyborg girl. "Pull hard, and don't stop until I tell you." She grabbed the handles, pulling the T-shaped grips down in order to lift the weights on the other side of the pulley. They were 100 kilogram weights, and there were five of them. She grunted with the effort, pulling harder and harder. Dr. Bianchi did not tell her to stop, simply monitoring her vitals on the computer screen. She pulled for at least fifteen minutes, and she looked hopeless by the time she had reached that mark. She was a cyborg, however, and so her sense of duty gave her no room to ask for reprieve.

"Hm. Even now, she isn't getting angry," said Bianchi, taking notes on a clipboard. "I don't think this particular test will work at all." He leaned to the microphone. "You can stop now, Grace." She let go of the grips and the weights crashed to the floor. Her body fell to the ground, where she gritted her teeth in pain and clutched at the cramped, torn muscles in her arms. The screen that displayed her anatomy and the condition of all the muscles was flashing red at several places in her arms and back. "Get her to the infirmary," the doctor said to me.

I ran out into the chamber, picking the girl up as if she were a rag doll.

"I'm sorry, Andrew," she said, tears streaming from her eyes. "I didn't do it right, did I?"

"You did wonderfully," I said. I walked as quickly as I could with her weight in my arms. I felt angry at the doctor for doing this to her. I was angry at myself for allowing it to happen.

"Is Dr. Bianchi mad at me?" she asked. I almost was moved to tears by her sincere wish to please a man like Dr. Bianchi. How dare he make her feel that duty. "I'm sorry."

"No, Grace," I said, "there's nothing to be sorry for." I shouldered my way through the doors of the infirmary, where a scientist was already waiting for me. I lay her on a bed, and the scientist examined her quickly.

"There's no superficial damage," she said to me, "but Dr. Bianchi said that are several tears in the skeletal muscle of her arms and back. One of the spinous processes on a lumbar vertebrae snapped, also. She'll be in here for today. Come to get her tomorrow morning."

"Yeah," I said, looking at the pain-filled face of the little girl. "I'll see you tomorrow Grace. I hope you'll fell better."

"I'm sorry, Andrew," she whimpered. "I wasn't strong enough."

"Be strong," I said to her, and to myself. "It's just some damage to the implants. Nothing the doctors can't fix, okay?"

"Okay," she said, her eyes still filled with tears.

---

Here's the address of a page with the song Andrew played. I think it should be the theme song of the series. http://noreimerreason/?p474/


	3. Melancholy Interlude

We-ell... Here's another chapter. I'm hoping this isn't too slowly paced- tell me what you think of it.

I don't have much experience with involved character studies, but I'm hoping this will prove interesting to you. Point out any grammar errors I have left uncorrected, seeing as I don't proofread by habit.

Thanks for reading- I appreciate it a great deal.

I dragged myself out of bed the next morning. My body stretched as I yawned hugely, and the sun streamed periodically through the window according to the position of the clouds. I hit the top of my alarm, which was blaring its siren call in an attempt to annoy me awake. My sleep had been plagued by images of Grace, lying in a stretcher, sobbing. It wasn't an image anyone could forget so easily, and though I usually tried to act stoic, it was difficult to restrain the guilty emotions I was harboring.

"What am I doing?" I asked myself aloud. I got up with great difficulty, raking my hands through messy brown hair. I hopped in the shower, shaved, and put on some respectable clothing. I was at the time renting a small house on the outskirts of town, and it was a charming little place. It was very empty, however, and that was a detrimental factor to my otherwise lovely home. As I tied my tie in the mirror, I looked at myself introspectively. I determined that to people who didn't know me, I would have appeared rather boring. To people that knew me, I supposed I simply appeared depressed. The loneliness of the situation was overpowering, and my expression reflected a bit of the hopelessness I felt.

I looked around the quaint kitchen regretfully as I walked downstairs. It did not get much use, as I spent nearly every day at the Social Welfare Agency, and I also ate every meal either there or in restaurants. The stove was shining and sterile, and the refrigerator hummed sadly in tune with the sound of the heating system. The only room that got much use was the living room, which contained my electric keyboard, the television, and my books. I shook my head, finally leaving.

The newspaper boy walked by, handing me my newspaper and heartily greeting me. I gave him a small smile, handing him a gracious tip.

"Thank you very much," he said, gasping at the amount I had given him.

"Buy something nice for yourself," I said, opening the door of my car. He nodded and apologized, saying he had to be on his way.

The drive to work was short, and I spent it listening to absolutely nothing. I arrived earlier than anyone but Hilshire, and parked in the best space I could find. I walked into the main building, carrying the newspaper. Triela and Hilshire sat at a table, eating silently. I took a small foam cup of coffee from the food tables, and sat with them, greeting both politely.

"Good morning, sir," Triela said, shoveling food in her mouth. Obviously being a cyborg hadn't affected her adolescent appetite.

"How are you?" asked Hilshire. He was scientifically eating a bit of sausage, cutting it carefully with a fork. I replied that I was okay, but my tone was exceedingly melancholy. Conversation ceased, and I turned my attention to the newspaper.

The recent clashes between the Republican Faction and the government had leaked into the media, which surprised me. Most of the newspapers were controlled by the government, which was why I didn't take them very seriously, but this was a particularly liberal newspaper. They were probably going to be reprimanded with heavy fines, at the very least. Frankly, I was surprised that the _Tribune_ was still privately owned. Conversions to a completely socialist system were underway, and the newspapers had been one of the first targeted businesses. There were many people in Italy who did not agree with the new socialist ways, myself being one of them. However, as a government employee I was allowed a certain amount of leniency in the amount of property I owned. I was content to live as such, because my new job was the prevention of terrorism. This was another reason the Social Welfare Agency had appealed to me in the first place, and I considered terrorism and needless murder a much greater evil than the new government. The Alberti Party had revolted ten years ago, but I had been fourteen years old at the time- not much interested in politics. The revolts had taken place mainly in Rome and the Piedmont, so I was largely unaffected by them. I had grown up in Sicily, where we were isolated from the political strife on the mainland.

How I wished Sicily were still my home.

"Good morning, Andrew," came a voice from behind me. It was Dr. Bianchi, unshaven and tired. "We've been working half the night to save those implants. She should be ready to leave the infirmary in about a week, but I don't want to continue testing until I can assure I've got a proper psychologist on staff. I apologize for the mistake I made yesterday."

"It's fine," I said, looking at him seriously. "But, I don't want any dangerous testing being done on my cyborg. She's not a test dummy, Bianchi, and she's going to have severe trauma from all this stress."

"I understand that," he said. "It won't happen again." I nodded, returning to my perusal of the newspaper. Bianchi staggered away. He clutched a mass of papers and clipboards precariously.

Jean walked in, and Rico trailed behind him, smiling absentmindedly. He waved to me. Rico carefully chose several different food items from the buffet, and he piled pancakes and bacon on his plate. They sat with the three of us, and Jean engaged Hilshire in conversation for a while, while Triela greeted Rico warmly.

Because Grace was lying unconscious in the infirmary, I decided that I should finish some of my paperwork while I had the chance. The day passed slowly, and I felt even more depressed when I stacked the finished reports on my desk. Before dinner Jose and Jean engaged my attention, asking if I would like to eat out with them. They were bored of the cafeteria food- as was I.

"I'm in," I said, shouldering my briefcase. "Where are we eating?"

"It's Jean's choice tonight," Jose said.

"We'll go somewhere nice, don't worry," said Jean confidently.

"I trust you," I said, rolling my eyes. I still felt lackluster, though.

"I've got to tell Henrietta I won't be at dinner tonight," said Jose, walking toward the cafeteria. I felt a twinge of jealousy that Jose's cyborg was allowed to go on normal missions. She was not a test dummy. I waited with Jean, who complained softly about his brother's attachment.

"I don't see why he needs to tell it where we're going. I doubt it cares," he said.

"I think she does, Jean," I said. "But I'm not going to argue about it with you."

"A wise decision. You'd lose," he said.

"I highly doubt that," I chuckled. "I'd win, but you would think you'd won. You're too stubborn to argue with."

"Maybe so," he replied. "But my opinion is the one that matters."

"Yeah," I said. I smiled that we could manage to joke, but I had guilt floating around in my mind. I was loath to joke. I simply wanted to play my keyboard, read my books, or watch a sitcom at home. I suddenly realized that dinner was not what I wished to be doing. However, I didn't want to offend the brothers, because they were obviously excited to be getting away from work.

Jose returned, breathless from jogging so as to not make us wait. We all trudged out to our respective cars, and followed Jean out of the parking lot. My sleek black sedan trailed behind Jose's convertible, and I turned on Mozart's sonatas. Most of them were cheerful, and some temporary cheer was what I really needed.

We arrived at the nice restaurant, as promised, and I followed the brothers in. We had our coats checked and were led to a good table, where Jean promptly ordered some fine wine. I sipped it unenthusiastically, and my body slumped in the chair.

"What's eating at you, Andrew?" asked Jose kindly.

"I don't know," I replied. This was partly true. I didn't want to tell them I was suffering from a sense of overpowering loneliness, and that I was deeply troubled by the fact that I had responsibility for a young cyborg who probably had the ability to crush small automobiles. I settled for a simple shrug and a false smile. "I guess it's just... the rain." Jose frowned, looking at me carefully. Jean drank wine with fervor. I hoped with the same fervor that he wouldn't be the cause of a large accident on his way home, but I kept that thought to myself.

Jean talked animatedly about guns, and Jose discussed them with an educated air. Though I was as much a gun aficionado as any military man, I did not wish to discuss things that shot people. After we'd gone through the appetizers, I told them I wanted some fresh air. I trekked out to the veranda, where many people were smoking and a few were looking at the clear sky. The clouds had blown away during the course of the day, and the air still smelled freshly of rain. The wind was bitterly cold. I leaned against the balcony with the other star-watchers.

"Hello," said a lady standing beside me. "I guess everyone else wanted some fresh air, too."

"Mm," I said. I couldn't think of anything to say. I looked at her, and noticed that she was rather younger than I had thought. I would have guessed she was a university student, as she clutched an I.D. Card in her hand from the closest university. I was not familiar with it, but I enquired if she attended it, anyway.

"Yes," she said. "I'm studying foreign relations, actually."

"Really? I work for the government, and I have to do work in that line sometimes."

"Do you?" she said. "Where in the government do you work?"

"I'm afraid it's classified," I replied. "I work for the Defense Department, in general, though."

"Oh," she said. "I'm hoping to be employed by the- oh, how rude of me!" she exclaimed. "I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Clarissa De'Celli."

"I'm Andrew Giucopeti," I said in reply. "It's very nice to meet you."

"Igualmente," she said in Spanish. I chuckled.

"I'm afraid Spanish isn't my specialty," I said. She laughed at that comment. "Well, I should head back, now."

"Me, too," she said. "I'm dining with my father tonight. He'll probably lecture me if I don't return soon."

"My friends are probably getting impatient. Well, it was nice meeting you."

"Igualmente," she said, still staring at the sky. I returned the table, thinking of what a nice girl she was. When I saw Jean and Jose, I even managed to see them in a more cheerful light.

"What kept you?" Jean demanded.

"I was talking to a girl," I said, grinning for the first time in the evening. Jean laughed at me, and Jose smiled.

"You're already trying to pick up women, Andrew? You've only been here for a week," Jose said.

"I don't pick up women," I said. "I just talk to them. Don't you two?"

"No. I find women irritating," Jean said.

"You find everything irritating. But they're not so bad," said Jose. "But in our line of work it's difficult to find the time to find them."

"No, they're not so bad," I replied. "I think I'll ask her if she'd like to have coffee with me next time I can get off." And I did. It almost made me forget for a moment about Grace and the Social Welfare Agency. Almost.

* * *

My profuse thanks for reading.

Until next time,

R.S.


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